“I will.” Trent hesitated, thinking about the Manhattan judge who had recently turned down Dopp’s application for permission to bug Arianna’s cell phone. Given a judge’s order, a phone company could remotely install a piece of software on a person’s cell, which activated its microphone even when the phone was not in use. To a listener nearby with a radio interceptor, it was the perfect bugging device, especially since it was undetectable. To Dopp’s frustration, liberal sentiment was so strong in New York that he had to obey the letter of the law, following established channels of legality to obtain a judge’s permission. But the judge assigned to review Dopp’s application had decided there was “no clear-cut indication of criminality” in Arianna’s case. Although it was a setback for Dopp, Trent feared it was insignificant. He knew Dopp was not about to back down.
Bracing for the answer, Trent pressed on. “By the way, are you going to file an appeal?”
Dopp smirked. “Are you kidding? That judge was some kind of feminist nut. I’m already working on getting some friends in Albany to help me speed things along this time.”
The words assaulted his ears. “Good,” he replied.
“But as of right now,” Dopp went on, “until we can intercept all of her conversations, our only hope is a confession to you directly—unless, of course, she goes back to the East Village and leads you somewhere important, or mishandles embryos under Banks’s nose. But I don’t see either of those things happening at this point.”
“Me either.”
“So you have to sympathize with her as much as possible.”
“I am, boss. I am.”
* * *
With a great sigh, Sam pulled the fifth dish out from under the microscope and set it next to the other four failures on the counter. His spine ached from hunching over the lens, attempting to identify the pure cells he longed to see. Yet improperly differentiated cells had popped up in every petri dish, mixing dangerously with oligodendrocytes. That was unacceptable; the cells had to be pure oligos in order to form myelin sheaths and repair Arianna’s spinal cord.
Sam consulted the chart to remind himself which growth factors he had injected into dish number six: the nuclear thyroid hormone receptor, T4 (L-thyroxine) at 40 nanograms per milliliter; the antioxidants selenium and vitamin E; thioredoxin reductase; bone morphogenic protein; and retinoic acid—along with the other standard culture ingredients of nutrient supplements, insulin, and antibiotics.
He went to the incubator and removed dish six, holding it with both hands as he brought it back to that mercilessly objective judge, the microscope. He slid the dish under the lens and peered down into it.
He squinted.
The landscape of the petri dish transcended that of a cell culture. It was a field of flawless diamonds, sparkling and scintillating under a master jeweler’s knife. It was the bottom of the hourglass, where the golden droplets of time had accumulated, pure and precious and waiting to be found.
It was one oligodendrocyte next to another, and another, dozens of like cells jostling for space in the modest dish.
Conformity had never looked so beautiful.
* * *
In the tense silence, Arianna’s cell phone vibrated loudly on her desk. Inspector Banks eyed it as if it were an annoying fly that needed a good swat. Arianna pressed a button to turn off the vibration and then glanced at the caller ID. It was Sam—the one person whose rare calls she hated to postpone. In a flash, she thought about wheeling herself out into the hallway, to the bathroom—but then Banks would wonder why she had never made such an effort for privacy for any other call. To downplay his suspicion was key.
She looked down at her phone, at Sam’s name insistently lighting up the screen.
What if there was another emergency and he needed her right away?
Temptation tipped her decision, even as Banks watched her.
“Excuse me,” she said to him, lifting the phone to her ear. She willed herself to remain expressionless, no matter what. Calm and cool.
“Hello?”
“Arianna.” The word sounded strained, as if Sam were struggling against a barrage of emotions. She hardly recognized his voice.
Her heart leapt into her throat; she could almost taste its frenzied pumping. Calm and cool.
“What’s going on?”
And then his voice broke.
“I did it.”
SEVENTEEN
Arianna gasped. “You did?”
“It’s flawless,” Sam choked out.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, draining from a pool of desperation deep within her. Even as she fought to contain them, the droplets escaped from the corners of her eyes in a free fall of euphoria, gaining momentum as they coursed down her face.
Through her blurry eyes, she saw that Inspector Banks was watching her intently, his eyebrows arched in surprise.
She shielded her face with her hand, unable to speak or think.
“Arianna?” Sam asked.
“I always knew you could,” she whispered.
Finding her voice again launched an ecstatic swell within her, this time in her vocal cords, and she had to repress the urge to scream.
“I want to see you,” he said.
“I’ll come over right now!”
“Don’t you dare.”
“But I want to see you, too!”
“We should meet at the clinic to extract your skin cells. I want to start the process right away.”
She paused, wondering how to communicate the impossible.
“The bastard is right there, isn’t he?” Sam said.
“Yes.”
“How can you stand him right now?”
She laughed freely, thinking that Banks did not matter anymore, nor did her fear. She laughed still at the fact that such things had mattered minutes ago, and now they did not. Oh, the energy she had wasted—all along, a farce, a cruel one, but that was all.
“Let’s meet somewhere,” Sam suggested. “We need to talk and plan. Your place?”
“I’m leaving right now.”
“Good. I’ll see you there.”
She tore the phone from her ear. Wetness from her cheek had dribbled onto the mouthpiece, so she wiped it onto her pant leg, slipped the phone into her pocket, and then looked up. Involuntarily, she felt herself beaming.
“Some good
